The Teacher | Brendon Urie

Chapter 2

It's Friday, and you know what that means. Yup, the English assignment is due! Oh, you thought I was going to talk about the party tonight? That's nothing special, I host parties all the time. This page and a half written about me, though? This is exciting.

I finally figured out what to write about yesterday. I don't want to seem like a suck up or anything, but music is my favourite subject, even before Mr. Urie said it was his. So I talked about how many instruments I can play, what each sound means to me, and finally I told him my all time favourite song: Fly Me to the Moon by Frank Sinatra.

"Good morning! Everyone pull out your assignments and I'll come around to collect them. If you're not finished, a prize goes to the person with the best excuse." Mr. Urie smirks and . . . Did he just wink directly at me? Okay, that's weird.

I smooth out my pages and wait for him to come around. "My dog ate it," I hear someone say and I burst into a quiet fit of laughter. That is the oldest excuse in the book, there's no extra points for that one.

"Come on, Amber, you can do better than that." Mr. Urie chuckles. "Wanna try again?" I don't hear her response, but I can imagine her shaking her head. "Suit yourself. Melody, are you finished?"

"Well, you see, my parents had this big gala last night and when I woke up this morning . . . Well, someone must have taken it." She stutters out. That's a rich girl answer, if I've ever heard one.

"I think there's this invention that's like a typewriter, but it saves your work to a cloud . . . What's it called, again?" Mr. Urie asks sarcastically. I can practically hear Melody swallow with fear.

"A-a computer?" It comes out as more of a question than an answer, but Mr. Urie takes it in stride.

"Right! Could you use one next time, please? Thank you," I see him shake his head with a look of amusement as he approaches my desk. "Stella, I trust that you've done your homework?" He says with hope filled eyes.

"Of course, Mr. Urie." I smile weakly up at him. I can't help but remember only a few days ago when I warned him about the girls at this school. God, I'm so awkward.

"Good!" He takes it and skims over it with his eyes. "Ah, you're a Sinatra fan?" His eyes light up and he gingerly pulls up his right sleeve, revealing a tattoo of the man himself. He lets the sleeve fall back over it, giving me his second wink of the day. "Good taste," he smirks, moving on to the next girl.

Did he really just show me his tattoo? Holy shit! My teacher has tattoos, how strange. I guess he's not really a conventional teacher, though. He's got to be in his mid twenties, not too much older. I guess it's not uncommon for young adults to have tattoos in this day and age . . .

I don't realize that I've been sitting and thinking the whole period until Mr. Urie is standing in front of me, one eyebrow raised. "The bell rang about two minutes ago." He observes.

"Oh," I shake my head, trying to clear my daydreams. "Sorry, I guess I should go . . ."

"That might be a good idea." He smirks again. I can't help but notice how much he smirks, and it's just another intriguing thing to add to the list.

*****

Stereo? Check. Food? Check. Valuables hidden? Check. Alcohol? "Anika, did you bring the booze?" I shout over my shoulder. Anika looks up at me, grinning eagerly.

"Mick and Daniel are getting the kegs from my car, and I mixed up tons of my secret concoction. It's in your fridge chilling as we speak." This is generally how my parties work. Mick, my neighbour, contacts all the guys he knows and tells them there's a party. After all, you can't have a good party with only girls. Anika gets the alcohol from her dad's brewery, and he doesn't even notice that it's missing. And badaboom badabing, a party is made.

By the time the clock strikes 10:30, my house is filled with people. I have the music blasting so loud that I can't even hear myself think, but I guess that's how people like it. As I'm looking around, I feel an arm slink around my torso. "Hey, cutie," the boy slurs, obviously totally inebriated.

"Hands to yourself, bucko." I scoff, pushing him off of me. I don't recognize him, but that's what I get for letting someone else invite people to my party. I'm not even going to try looking for Anika in this crowd, so I make my way towards the kitchen.  I'm not a huge fan of beer, but I grab a solo cup of it anyways and head back into the living room.

Before I even take a step into the room, however, the doorbell goes off. What the hell? Who rings a doorbell when they come to a party? I saunter towards the door and swing it open, prepared to laugh at the late comer, but who I see in front of me sends me into a quiet panic.

"Mr. Urie? What are you doing here?" I manage to squeak out.

"Well, I was trying to mark some of those papers that were due today, but I couldn't think over this blaring music." He glances around at the people who have started to spill onto my front lawn.

"I, uh, didn't know you lived around here . . ." All I can think about is how much trouble I'd be in if Mr. Urie called the cops. I mean, he seems like a pretty laid back guy, but this party is very illegal.

"Yup, just a couple houses over, actually." He shoves his hands into his pockets and nods slowly. "So, a party, huh? I used to throw some pretty bad ass parties when I was in highschool." Oh God! What do I even say to that? Should I invite him in? Would that be weird?

"Do you wanna come in?" I decide that it's already weird, I might as well just go along with it. He shrugs and I move to the side so he can squeeze past me. "Here, you look like you could use this." I say, handing him the beer I poured not five minutes ago.

"Oh, thanks." He laughs, sniffing the cup before taking a swig. "I didn't really take you for the partying type," Mr. Urie shouts above the noise.

"I'm not, really." I say quietly. He taps his ear, unable to hear what I just said. "Follow me!" I yell, grabbing his elbow and gently guiding him towards my basement. The door is locked, and I fumble in my pocket for the key, pulling it out and opening the door.

"Are you taking me to your villain lair?" Mr. Urie chuckles, but continues down the stairs behind me.

"Not quite," I laugh. I'm not going to deny his humour, the guy is pretty funny. "This is my studio." I say, turning in a circle, my arms outstretched.

A/N: I know that no-one is reading this story, but for some reason I'm still worried about how good or, more accurately, how bad it is . . . Lol thanks for everything, y'all

~Kirsten